


Indigo

by Catsintheattic



Series: Rainbow Series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Sixth Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-20
Updated: 2007-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-27 23:26:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsintheattic/pseuds/Catsintheattic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soaring under an indigo sky, Draco rages against Potter’s luck. But he will reach his goal – with cunning, bravery, cleverness and hard work. And if he can forget that ache inside of himself, it will be all for the better.</p><p>Set mid October, 1996.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indigo

Draco thought that he could take to cracking bones. When he had heard about Katie Bell being taken to St. Mungo’s today, he could have happily broken every bone in Potter’s miserable body. Slowly. Cherishing the sound of it. It might bring back the surge of victory he’d felt on the train, when Potter had stared into his face: immobilised, bloodied, and helpless. Draco’s elation had only lasted one day. The first Potions lesson had seen Potter victorious again, winning that flask of Felix Felicis that Draco needed so badly for himself. With the help of Felix, the necklace might have passed through to its final recipient without further disruption. With the help of Felix, Draco might have already found the formula to repair that blasted Cabinet. With the help of Felix, he would have won his parents’ lives back instead of having everybody breathing down his neck. Alas, using Felix was not an option. The potion was not his, but Potter’s.

White hot rage was flashing behind his eyes as he stormed towards the Quidditch pitch. He needed to get on his broom and get some good, demanding exercise, just to let it out of his system. To get rid of the hate that threatened to swallow his composure in one ready bite. If anyone asked him right now, he could just say that he wanted some extra training. But if he got caught hexing Potter into next week, how would he explain that? Why was it always Potter who got just what he wanted, regardless of how many rules had to be bent. And the teachers were only too happy to stand aside and congratulate him for it. Draco knew he wouldn't get off half as easily, and the last thing he needed was a month's worth of detentions. He had important work to do.

He grabbed the handle of his broom and kicked hard to get as much distance between himself and the ground as quickly as possible. Then he released his training Snitch, which glowed with a soft golden light in the emerging darkness. It soared into the sky, and Draco headed after it immediately, prepared to pursue it to the edge of its range. When his fingers closed around the little golden ball only moments later, he almost crushed the delicate wings with his grip. They batted weakly against the leather of his gloves, and Draco, angry with the too-easy catch, hurled the little ball away again.

This time, it disappeared into the sky, and Draco could finally let himself loose. He forced his broom higher and higher, until the goal posts were diminished to tiny toothpicks underneath. He circled above the Quidditch pitch. The castle looked so small, and it should have been easy to forget about everything that was happening down there and back at home. But despite his efforts to keep them at bay, Draco's fear and anguish overtook him. 

He had accidentally almost killed a classmate. A pure-blood, even. Well, in a way, she might have deserved it, being a member of the House of Blood-traitors and Muggle-lovers. She could easily have fallen for a Mudblood herself. Draco grit his teeth, telling himself that in every war, sacrifices had to be made. But even though she was a Gryffindor, she wasn’t any more than an innocent bystander, and a worthy Quidditch athlete as well. Keeping Madam Rosmerta under _Imperio_ was one thing, but being the cause of Bell’s near death was another. And it still could happen. She wasn’t safe yet. She could still… die. And then, he, Draco, would be a killer. The thought alone made Draco tremble from head to toe, his body confirming and betraying his weakness. But he couldn’t be weak. Weakness meant failure, in a way much more thorough than his father’s lessons had ever implied.

Draco smashed his fist onto the broom handle, causing the Nimbus 2001 to lurch in the air. The weather had changed for the worse since he had mounted his broom. No longer pretending that he was looking for the Snitch, Draco steered into the wet October clouds that had been building up and then raced back towards the ground, going faster and faster, until the rushing wind in his ears made him dizzy. 

He had been proud when the Dark Lord had handed him his assignment. This was finally the chance not only to prove himself, but to win his Lord’s graces back for his whole family. His mother, of course, torn between anger and anxiousness, didn’t understand. But she would be proud of him, in the end. Draco could just imagine her patting his arm and fussing over him after he had proven his loyalty and worthiness to their master. The day Lucius Malfoy returned to his home, he would see that his son had taken good care of everything. A soft smile played around Draco’s lips, until he remembered how his father had been taken away from them at the darkest of times, torn from his mother’s side when she needed him so badly for support. Draco would have to make up for that. 

The air had grown steadily colder, and now, the clouds just seemed to be everywhere. When Draco stopped and hovered above the commentator stand to catch his breath, he could feel cold sweat gluing his clothes to his body, and he realised that he was shivering violently. He should go back, and get ready to redouble his efforts.

He squinted against the quickly darkening sky. Something flickered far below, and he dived towards it. He couldn’t care less who caught the Snitch in the next match. His was a race of life and death. And Draco was determined to win. This time, he would win. He simply had to. He steered his broom towards the ground and pulled it up in the last moment, soaring high into the sky again. A fluttering of wings, and Draco threw his body around and aimed for the golden ball. In the next instant, his hand closed around the Snitch, while the tail of his broom scraped the lawn, bucking Draco off like an unwilling horse its rider. He hit the ground, and slid a few metres until he finally came to a halt. A painful hiss escaped his lips when he sat up and carefully tested his limbs. He was in one piece, although his left sleeve was torn and the skin looked like it had been clawed by an angry kneazel. His brows knit together in a tight line. He shouldn’t have let his attention waver like that. Draco picked himself up from the ground and slowly walked towards his broom. The shadows of the Quidditch goal posts stood black against the indigo sky.

He started back to the Slytherin dungeons. A hot shower would clear his head, and by then everybody would be busy with their homework in the common room. Nobody would miss him, when he went to the Room tonight.

He would succeed with his task. That was what he had to do. No more childish games. He would keep away from Potter and concentrate on his assignment, and be the man he wanted to be for his family. No more shouting at Weasley in the corridors, no more disturbances with the Mudblood. Slughorn and the other teachers could have their favourites, Draco didn't need to be one of them. He was done with that. Who needed words of praise in a world of battle?

He would make them pay, all of them. Collateral damage be damned.

**Author's Note:**

> The second story of the Rainbow Series. Thank you to waterbird for beta-reading and all the helpful suggestions. Any remaining mistakes are mine.


End file.
